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A gust of October wind whips Hermione’s hair across her face, her coat flapping uncontrollably about her legs. She braces herself, and holds steadfast like a column, hands shoved into her pockets.
It’s the kind of day that should be spent curled up in bed. But instead, she jams her finger into the doorbell and looks down at her mud streaked boots. She left in a hurry, not even bothering to put socks on.
It occurs to her then he might not even be home. She’s struck by the thought of him in his office, glasses low on his aristocratic nose as his red quill slashes through his students’ papers.
The door is pulled back just as she’s thinking about apparating home.
“Are we breaking the rules now?” His voice is coloured by surprise.
Hermione feels exposed today on his doorstep, mostly because she usually would cloaked in darkness when she’s loitering outside, waiting to be let in.
She lifts her face out of the bulging collar of her turtleneck. The damp has seeped into her coat and makes her bones rattle.
“Is that okay?” The wind carries her question away.
“Of course it’s okay.”
The door shuts behind her and along with it, the rest of the world. He waves his wand and warmth travels down her entire body. She sighs in relief.
He helps her out of her coat. She’s waiting for irritation but no, he’s only ever been welcoming and it never comes. He steers her into the familiar sitting room.
The room appears different during the day. It’s cozy, she thinks. And odd to be here during the day.
A half drunk coffee, an almanac of potions and wiry gold rimmed glasses are placed on the table in front of her. He tucks a quilt around her shoulders as soon as she sinks onto the familiar couch.
It’s like her body knows where she is because a frisson of heat pools at the base of her spine. She presses her knees together, ignoring it. She has no intention of being debauched on this couch today, as much as her body seems to be having a Pavlovian reaction.
A bay window overlooks the street, branches scraping the glass in the bustling wind.
Concern etches his lovely face. His brows pinch into a frown. “Was it Anton again?”
“No.” Her voice comes out hoarse. Her tyrannical supervisor and Draco’s colleague, was thankfully occupied with a magizoology conference in Prague. This week had been as close to blissful as academia could get.
He’s a welcome sight standing before her like this in a cashmere sweater and gray slacks.
Once, they fell asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace, naked and spent. He slept so peacefully and she gave in to her urge of lightly tracing her fingers over his features. It was exactly the type of tenderness she wished she could have with him all the time.
Tea service materializes next to his reading with a loud crack.
He adds a splash of milk into her tea. She takes it in her hands, immediately clutching the cup tightly to warm her fingers. She’s no longer shivering and her body is just beginning to right its temperature.
He joins her on the couch, taking the opposite corner.
He watches her take a sip. And then another.
She looks at him from above the lip of her cup. They sit in silence, Draco never one to force her to speak when she didn’t want to.
His hand tenderly sweeps a coil out of her face and it makes her shiver.
“Here–” he waves his wand before long, a fire is crackling beneath the mantel.
They sit shoulders to shoulder and watch the fire. He doesn’t press her but the silence begins to stretch and weigh on her and she takes a deep breath.
“I’m sorry for coming here unannounced.”
“I’m glad you came.” Their eyes meet, understanding hanging between them. She notices the hints of stubble on his chin then.
Draco settles deeper into the corner of the couch and opens his arms ever so slightly.
She sets the cup down with a clink and slides closer to him until she can fit herself on his chest, her ear listening to his heartbeat. She feels his chin on the crown of her head as his arms circle her, gently smoothing his palm over her back.
His presence envelops her and she melts into it.
“My parents are separating.” Hermione finally says.
Draco’s hand pauses. “Oh, darling.” He breathes, and she can hear his heart breaking. For her.
“Restoring their memories was a mistake. It was a selfish thing to do and I should’ve left them as they were. They were perfectly happy in Australia.” Hermione swallows around the lump in her throat.
“Messing with their minds like that - especially when they don’t—when they’re Muggles, they haven’t been able to forgive me. And all this chaos and trauma that I’ve afflicted on them, its ripped them apart. I’ve ripped them apart.”
The tears don’t come though. She’s spoken about the cocktail of emotions she’s experiencing with Ginny at length. She’s bawled her eyes out to Harry and Ron who have listened patiently and offered plenty of reassurances.
And yet, she’s plagued by loneliness. No matter how many people she’s surrounded by. Her flat is freakishly quiet but she can’t bring herself to invite Ginny or Luna over. Her potions mastery is the only thing that forces her out of bed every day but she’s simply going through the motions, barely scraping by, bungling yet another thing in her life.
The guilt and sadness and anger exhausts her, despite constantly crawling into bed early.
“I’ve just been so naive. I’ve been a horrible daughter. I’ve–”
“That’s not true, Hermione,” he says softly but sternly. “You’re far from a bad daughter.”
“I may have cause irreparable damage to their brains. Mum gets headaches. Dad’s complaining of nightmares. They won’t take potions, no matter how many times I explain that I’m not–I’m not poisoning them.”
“Do they really think their own daughter would do that?”
“I’ve violated them in ways that were unimaginable to them, Draco.”
He doesn’t reply immediately. She breathes in his cologne, the softness of his jumper against her face.
“You were doing everything you could to keep them safe.” He says softly.